No Cure for Being Human by Kate Bowler
I heard Bowler speak for the first time on Glennon Doyle’s podcast, We Can Do Hard Things, and I was smitten by her voice, her humor, and her obvious sense of wonder. In her thirties Bowler is diagnosed with stage four colon cancer. She is a wife, a mom to a toddler son, a professor at Duke University on track for tenure—and now (after many doctors dismissing her pain as “all in her head”) she has only months to live. No Cure For Being Human is about what happens next—and what Bowler (who is a fantastic and funny writer) learns along the way. It is beautiful, inspiring, hopeful, uplifting and real. A wonderful start to the new year.
No One is Talking About This by Patricia Lockwood
I had to remind myself to breathe. To unhunch my shoulders. Unflex my ankles. The first sentence is the top of the world’s highest water slide. You let go and then — and then, and then, and then—relentless motion. Hilarity, disorientation, poignancy, insight, confusion, meme, all in the shape of a prose poem, in the shape of the internet, the ultimate shape shifter. The first half of this genre defying piece of art is the “before times”, the perspective of a woman who becomes internet famous for posing the question, “can a dog be twins?” She is the Twitter-TikTok-Meta sphere, talking, thinking in blinks and starts. And then—the unimaginable happens. Her pregnant sister’s baby, diagnosed with Proteus syndrome—the rarest of the rare genetic disorders—never before diagnosed in utero. It’s unreal. There is nothing more real. The narrator’s attention is now pulled by a single thread, tight and tenuous and holy. You have to experience the whole thing. If you find yourself confused early on, wondering what wait WHAT? Wait. Keep going. And you’ll see.
Woolgathering by Patti Smith
My rule: when you commit to loving the writing of Patti Smith, you commit to loving all of it. I apply this rule to no other writer, because no other writer seems to me as atomically inseparable from their work. To pick and choose which of Smith’s writings are worthy is to pick and choose which parts of your child are worthy. It can’t be done. You must love The whole Patti, without conditions. That said, if you are new to Smith, start with Just Kids, her National Book Award winning memoir. It’s her most finely tuned instrument. Woolgathering is an early work (her first, I think?) updated and rereleased post pandemic, in a gorgeous slim little pocket volume that is a joy to just hold. What is “woolgathering”? It’s defined as “indulgence in dreamy imagining, or absent mindedness.” And so this little pocketbook of prose poems goes, meandering through moments, reflecting on photographs, not worrying one iota what you or anyone thinks about where it’s been.
Atlas of the Heart by Brene Brown
I was afraid this was going to be a rehash of Brene Brownisms through the ages, because the book is designed in a sort of coffee table style. But there’s a lot of great content here and plenty of new ground. It’s part memoir part dictionary of emotions, but rather than being organized alphabetically, related emotions are grouped together, so you can understand what the research says about them and how they’re distinct from one another.
The Hearts Invisible Furies by John Boyne
Sigh. Wow. What a beautiful, glorious ride. This is a novel about love and loss and family and cause and effect and resistance and acceptance. It’s about the ripple effects of patriarchy and prejudice. I won’t spoil it for you by revealing any (of the many many) plot points, but I will be thinking about it for a long long time.
A Woman is No Man by Etaf Rum
Through the points of view of three generations of Palestinian-American women, this novel tells the story of Isra, who is brought to America at age 17, after her arranged marriage to a man named Adam. Adam and Isra. The allusion to Adam and Eve didn’t dawn on me until midway through, but it’s quite brilliant, as this is a story about what it means in Arabic culture to be “man” and “woman”—and what it means to transcend those prescribed roles, by rewriting our own story. A really beautiful novel.
Crossroads by Jonathan Franzen
The major characters are not likable—and they’re barely sympathetic, but Franzen’s rendering of their interior worlds is so brilliantly weird and clever, it almost doesn’t matter. I say “almost” because this is the first of a trilogy, and while I’m curious to see where this family ends up, I’m not sure I care.
The Wreckage of My Presence: Essays by Casey Wilson
Loved. Loved. Loved. Casey Wilson is so damn funny, and these essays made me LOL and shake the mattress in the middle of the night. If you’re looking for something zippy and heartwarming and just delightful—voila. The wreckage of Casey’s presence is the gift that keeps on giving.
Yearbook by Seth Rogan
So goddamned funny. Omg. Bad drug trips, an insane meeting with Tom Cruise, that whole Kim Jong-Un movie fiasco, some pants shitting (a staple of the genre), this is a romp and a half. Loved every minute.
Duane's Depressed by Larry McMurtry
I believe this is the third time I've read this novel; it hits me harder every time. It's the third in a trilogy that starts with The Last Picture Show (published in 1966), and for me, it's the best of the three. There's also a follow up sequel I can't bring myself to read because it was almost universally panned, and I don't want anything to ruin this perfect novel for me. It's a novel about depression, fulfillment, disappointment, and grief that also happens to be funny as hell.
The Folded Clock by Heidi Julavits
Through poignant and funny diary entries Heidi Julavits lets us live inside her clever, poetic and ever so slightly demented (but in the best way) brain. She talks, for example, about always going swimming with a buddy in case she’s attacked by sharks. She knows full well that the buddy will provide no real protection. “But,” she says, "I feel safe knowing—before I am pulled under water to my death by an animal, I can share a final what the fuck moment with a sympathetic human.”
Exit. Pursued by a Bear by E.K.Johnston
Hermione Winters, senior and co-captain of the Palermo High School cheerleading squad, is drugged and raped at cheerleading camp and remembers nothing of the crime. Her first-person narrative of the before and after feels compelling and real—if not true to life, where many rape victims are not believed or supported. This is intentional on the author’s part. She gives Hermione a powerful support system to show how critical it is to processing and healing. The novel uses cheerleading as a metaphor in a way I found unexpectedly satisfying. The title—and the central friendship of the novel between Hermione and Polly, which is its driving force—is an allusion to Shakespeare’s A Winter’s Tale.
The Last Thing He Told Me by Laura Dave
Acts One and Two: compelling. Act Three? Absurd and unbelievable. Like, infuriatingly so. In order for the ending to make sense you have to buy into the narrator’s weird leaps of logic, and I just could not, especially when, the step daughter who the narrator is willing to protect at all costs is so one dimensional (and that dimension happens to be “rude little bitch”) grrrr.
Take Charge of You by David Novak and Jason Goldsmith
I read this for a work assignment, and while I’m typically wary (and weary) of airport business books, this one is quite good. Smart, practical advice for self coaching.
Sandy Hook: An American Tragedy and the Battle for Truth by Elizabeth Williamson
HOO boy. This was brutal. I read it because I want to understand how anyone could believe that Sandy Hook (and every mass shooting thereafter) was a government conspiracy. I’m not sure I have an answer. In the case of Alex Jones, the infowars show host who lit the match of Sandy Hook conspiracy, we have a deranged narcissist, motivated by power and profit. The good news is in how these grieving families fought back, against Alex Jones and Infowars, in particular, who fanned the flames of conspiracy for years. Jones was rightfully deplatformed (and bankrupted) and will go down in history as a sick and evil man who wreaked havoc on the parents of murdered children. It’s not justice, but it’s something.
Run Towards the Danger: Confrontations with a Body of Memory by Sarah Polley
Brilliant. Seriously. Riveting and brilliant. I first encountered Sarah Polley in Atom Egoyan’s The Sweet Hereafter, an incredibly dark film that appealed to my brooding undergraduate film studies sensibilities. She was a teen actress then, and I found her performance captivating. In 2012, Polley released her documentary Stories We Tell about discovering she was conceived in an extramarital affair. I discovered the documentary only recently and walked away from it decided that Polley is a poet and a genius. (Please go watch it). This book of essays solidifies my stance. The memories she recounts here are electrifying; the way she recounts them is masterful. I couldn’t put it down.
What Money Can’t Buy: The Moral Limits of Markets by Michael J. Sandel
There are some things money can’t buy … but they’re becoming fewer and farther between. Michael Sandal (who also wrote Justice, which I read and loved last year) explores the increasing commodification of f*king everything—from ball fields to life expectancy to standing in line—and how we lose as a society (and a democracy) when everything’s for sale.
Notes on a Silencing: A Memoir by Lacy Crawford
Holy. Shit. This memoir. So profoundly important. So fucking infuriating. Crawford was sexually assaulted by two upperclassman at St. Paul’s, the New England boarding school she attended in New Hampshire. The school’s administration responds egregiously, threatening to (further) slander Crawford, a child, if her parents reveal the school’s cover up. The memoir is beautifully written, offering readers the opportunity to bear witness to a grave injustice and inspiring artistry.
What We Wish Were True by Tallu Schuyler Quinn
My friend Jen invited me to a reading in honor and memory of Quinn, hosted by Parnassus Books. Quinn was a minister and nonprofit leader who founded The Nashville Food Project, and she died this year of glioblastoma, an incurable brain cancer, leaving a husband and two young kids. She wrote this book of essays (subtitled Reflections on Nurturing Life and Facing Death) when she knew she was dying, and the poetry and beauty of it is remarkable. The book is a gift, as was, I’m happy to have learned, her legacy.
Fed Up: Emotional Labor, Women, and the Way Forward by Gemma Hartley
HOO boy. This one is important. If your response to “Let me know how I can help” is to sprout horns and mock-strangle the person, this one’s for you. Once you’re aware of the concept of emotional labor — or as I prefer to call it, invisible labor — you discover it’s EVERYWHERE. Insidious. Maddening. I was reading this on the weekend of my annual spring cleaning at home, and let’s just say, it ruined Sunday. I asked Larry to mail his mother’s birthday gift (which I had purchased, and wrapped, and written the card for), he looked at me like I’d asked him to dismantle the Statue of Liberty, and the Emotional Labor Fight of the Century ensued. But! Some important conversations came out of it, and I am grateful every day to have a partner who listens, sees me, and genuinely cares about doing this life situation as a team. Old habits die hard, and this is not an easy fix, but bringing emotional labor into the light (which Hartley does beautifully) and then recognizing your own complicity in perpetuating it, is where we start.
Severance by Ling Ma
I bought this thinking it was the novel the Apple TV series was based on, but it’s unrelated. I’m not entirely sure what I think of this one. It moved quickly, and the pandemic scenario was creepily compelling, but there wasn’t a character in it I really cared about. It just wasn’t that kind of novel. A zombie allegory you might call it? Maybe just not my cup of tea.
Write for Your Life by Anna Quindlen
I've always loved Anna Quindlen’s essays. This slim volume about the importance of writing—to show, and to share, and to remember—is lovely. “History is our story,” she reminds us. “Those who write it own it, today and always.”
In Love: A Memoir of Love and Loss by Amy Bloom
Wow. This is a masterpiece. Wrenching, beautiful, and wise. When Bloom’s husband Brian is diagnosed with Alzheimer’s he is adamant; he wants to die on his own terms, not succumb to the “long goodbye” of dementia. And he asks Bloom to help him (and to write about it.) She does. After an intensive qualification process, Brian is permitted to undergo “accompanied suicide” at Dignitas in Switzerland. This memoir is that journey, told with (truly, madly, deeply) unflinching honesty and grace.
Hello, Molly by Molly Shannon
Molly Shannon has stories. What a life she’s lived; I had no idea. Reading her book is like picking up a treasure trove and pulling out one shiny or tragic or hilarious thing after another. There is nothing writerly about it, but the stories are just SO good. The story about Gary Coleman alone is worth the price of admission. And her brand of joy and optimism is so infectious, you can’t not fall in love with her over and over again.
Gender Queer: A Graphic Memoir by Maia Kobabe
A banned book that is beautifully done. I’m so curious about the lived experience of trans, non-binary, and gender fluid persons—especially as I see people writing “the whole they/them thing” off as a trend. Um, no. Not a “trend”, BUT what if it was? Aren’t these dismissers even curious about what such a trend would mean? Nope. They’re going to stick it in a “trend” bucket with mullets and skinny jeans, unexamined. Even as our country backslides horrifically on issues of gender, with evangelicals and performative, cruel and ignorant politicians leading the way, books like this give me hope that we’re still making progress.
How to Tell a Story: The Essential Guide to Memorable Storytelling from The Moth
If you’re not familiar with The Moth, it’s a radio show and podcast of real people telling real stories on stage in front of a live audience. The stories are phenomenal. Heartbreaking, hilarious, inspiring. And they do feel natural and unrehearsed. As I was reading this book, I saw a comment from a friend on Facebook saying she was in awe of how The Moth storytellers could just get on stage and “wing it like that”, and I couldn’t help but chime in with “THEY DON’T!!!” Moth stories are carefully constructed, crafted and polished over time. They’re rehearsed. And rehearsed and rehearsed. Which is what makes them so good. This book breaks it all down—the process of developing, refining, and telling a story on stage. It’s a fascinating read with tons of useful tips for anyone who wants to tell better stories.
Save Yourself by Cameron Esposito
Cameron Esposito, actor, comedian, podcaster, wasn’t even on my radar until I heard her on Glennon Doyle’s podcast (which says everything about my pathetically limited comedy radar and nothing about Esposito). She's wonderful. The kind of person you want to be friends with after hearing them speak one time. I really enjoyed this memoir, and I’m planning to check out her podcast, Take My Wife, next.
Little Weirds by Jenny Slate
A perfect title. These memoiristic vignettes are so delightful and unique and wonderfully weird. I laughed out loud late at night in my bed at “Restaurant”, a piece that’s worth the price of the book alone. Jenny Slate doesn’t just have a way with words, she has her way with words. It’s like a glad fever dream prose poem from not-quite-short-story land. George Saunders blurbed the book, and that feels exactly right to me. (I haven't yet watched Marcel the Shell with Shoes On, of which Slate is the co-writer and star, but it's on my to-do list.)
These Precious Days by Ann Patchett
God, I loved this. Ann Patchett is a wonder—equally brilliant at fiction and non. She’s never written anything that wasn’t excellent, but this might be my favorite collection of her essays. The title piece was pure magic.
Between Two Kingdoms by Suleika Jaouad
Beautiful. Jaouad was diagnosed with leukemia in her early twenties. She wrote a column for the New York Times during her treatment that I wasn’t aware of, and I’m glad because I got to experience her writing for the first time. Memoirs are always being hailed as unflinching and raw. Jaouad goes a step further, writing about the flinching, in perfect honest detail.
The Candy House by Jennifer Egan
I need to read this one again. Maybe two more times. So many dots to connect--and such a unique structure (not unlike this novel's predecessor--A Visit from the Goon Squad), I found myself wanting to go back to the beginning and read knowing the things I was going to know later. What I particularly like about Egan's storytelling is that she tackles "THE FUTURE" and the dystopian aspects of it without writing in a futuristic, dystopian style. Typically stories that address the soul-stripping dangers inherent in technology have the soul stripped out of them, and this one doesn't. It feels current and human and real.
Entitled: How Male Privilege Hurts Women by Kate Manne
In this scholarly (but accessible) cultural critique, Manne demonstrates the many (many) ways privileged men are entitled—to sex, power, knowledge, bodily autonomy, care, and admiration—and how misogyny can be understood not as an attitude but a system of oppression baked into our culture to reinforce gender norms.
The Love Songs of W.E.B. Dubois by Honoree Fannone Jeffers
Damn. Poets need to write more books. I’ve never read anything quite like this (although East of Eden comes to mind as having similar scope and depth). Clocking in at just under 800 pages, with a central character, Ailey Pearl Garfield, who is deeply nuanced and vividly drawn, this novel contains multitudes—of racial reckoning, trauma, history, and heartbreak. T.
Becoming Nicole by Amy Ellis Nutt
This is the story of transgender actress and activist Nicole Maines, who was born with an identical twin brother, Jonas. Nicole (born Wyatt) knew from a very early age that she was a girl in a boy’s body. Her twin brother accepted her as a sister. Her mother became her fiercest advocate. And her father, Wayne, who makes the biggest transformation in this story—perhaps more than Nicole herself—goes from being angry, frustrated and resentful to a national advocate and public speaker on behalf of trans youth. I have no patience for people who write off the “whole trans thing”, saying they don’t get it “but whatever.” It’s time for all of us to get it. To understand that there is humanity beyond the binary and our lives will be richer for it. This memoir is a great place to start.
Lust and Wonder by Augusten Burroughs
The follow up to Dry, Burroughs’ memoir of getting sober, Lust and Wonder is a relationship story in three hilarious, heartfelt and poignant acts. I will never not be astounded by the unmistakable quality and timbre of his writing. Like the precious gemstones he obsesses over (you’ll have to read this to fully appreciate this 401k ravaging quirk of his), Augusten is a treasure that contains multitudes.
Bomb Shelter by Mary Laura Philpott
A follow up to I Miss You When You Blink, this collection of essays hits close to home, literally (Philpott is a fellow Nashvillian) and figuratively (we’re about the same age, with two children about the same age. Philpott is an effervescent writer whose joie de vivre underscores even her darker moments. I really enjoyed this collection.
This Is How: Surviving What You Think You Can’t by Augusten Burroughs
There’s funny Augusten Burroughs and there’s earnest and serious Augusten Burroughs, and this book of essays was written by the latter. I almost put it down (because I wanted funny Augusten Burroughs), but I couldn’t, because earnest Augusten Burroughs is so right about so many things. Jarringly right. Want-to-disagree-but-can’t right. About love and addiction and sickness and death. He’s right. There’s a lot of wisdom in this slender book.
Beyond the Gender Binary by Alok Vaid-Menon
I started following Alok after they were a guest on We Can Do Hard Things and their message (and style) is world changing. This is a small volume from The Pocket Change collective (an idea I wish I’d thought of), and in addition to presenting Alok’s vision (which is not to “get rid of” gender, for the love, people), it counters key arguments made to disappear people who don’t conform to the gender binary.
Maybe You Should Talk to Someone by Lori Gottlieb
Loved it the first time. Kept looking for something in a similar vein. And when I couldn’t find any books by therapists about therapists going through therapy, I thought, fuck it, I’ll just read this one again. So worth it. (By the way, Gottlieb has a podcast called Dear Therapists, which is also riveting.)
Year of the Tiger, An Activist’s Life by Alice Wong
Mind (and life) changing. Alice Wong is a disabled Chinese American activist, cat lover, OG cyborg, oracle, and founder and director of the Disability Visibility Project (among many other things). This is her first memoir, constructed of writings, interviews, essays, and artwork. It opened my eyes. It helped me further solidify some half baked ideas I’ve been wrestling with about power and access. It made me think and think and think. Please read this book.
Golem Girl - A Memoir - by Riva Lehrer
I learned about Riva Lehrer in Year of the Tiger, where she is interviewed by Alice Wong, so I was thrilled to find a copy of her memoir at Sundog Books in Seaside Beach, on the Florida Panhandle. Three days and 400 pages later, I am better off for having met Riva through these pages and I want everyone to do the same. What a life, what a story, what a poet, what a person. And what a long way we able bodied people still have to go to appreciate the value and necessity of difference. I’m closer, thanks to Riva, thank god.
Disability Visibility, First-Person Stories from the 21st Century, edited by Alice Wong
I tend to read my way down rabbit holes, filling my brain with enough of a subject to start thinking about it in a meaningful way. I finished this collection of essays on the drive back from the beach , where I spent my vacation under an umbrella with Alice Wong and Riva Lehrer (via their amazing memoirs, blurbed above), and now I can’t stop seeing and thinking about all the ways we’ve built a world hostile to disability and difference. We don’t just fail to meet the needs of disabled people, we punish them for having needs in the first place, for daring to exist at all. The three books above have me rethinking everything—from plastic straws to Medicaid requirements to Oscar nominations to elevator buttons to disposable undergarments and on and on …
I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy
This memoir kept selling out at both my neighborhood bookstores. It got so much press, I wondered if it would live up to the hype; would it be an interesting story or really good writing? It’s both. Times ten. McCurdy’s story is b-a-n-a-n-a-s, and her voice is singular. The way her voice evolves as she moves from recounting early childhood to the present day is especially poignant. I absolutely loved this book.
Life Will Be the Death of Me by Chelsey Handler
Books by comedians often feel a little unsatisfying to me, like the jokes are a wall (a really funny wall), designed to keep the reader at a safe and comfortable distance. This—Handler’s latest—is different. As was the case for many of us, the Trump era triggered a reckoning for Handler. She started therapy to address, among other things, her rage. I’ve been really interested in memoirs that center around people in therapy (please send me your recs), and this one is a wonderful balance of grief and vulnerability, humor and healing. A quick read I highly recommend.
The Guncle by Steven Rowley
I glanced at this one several times in the bookshop thinking it would be shallow and silly. When it popped up on Libby (the library app) I gave the sample a quick read and I was hooked. The writing is fantastic. The story is endearing and laugh out loud funny. It’s the best kind of mainstream fiction. Bright and easy reading but not formulaic or one dimensional. An aging former sitcom star becomes the reluctant temporary guardian of his niece and nephew after their mom dies and their dad checks himself into rehab. Patrick O’Hara is the Guncle (otherwise known as GUP, for Gay Uncle Patrick), and he is wonderful. I loved this book.
Transgender History by Susan Stryker
In the summer of this year I started training to become a volunteer crisis counselor for The Trevor Project, an organization dedicated to ending suicide among LGBTQIA youth. I graduated from training this fall and started working as a counselor, and to call it rewarding would be a vast understatement. Helpfulness is a great remedy for hopelessness, and so is immersing yourself in a topic, seeing it from multiple perspectives and historical vantage points. This is not a light read, obviously, and it’s written by an academic—but it’s accessible if you’re curious about trans history like I am. Reading about the trans experience lets me remember how vast and far reaching it is, which is essential in an America that seems so committed to making marginalized communities disappear.
The Absolutely True Diary of a Part Time Indian by Sherman Alexie
This one’s been banned from many a junior high reading list, because it mentions masturbation and “sexual content”. I also learned part way through reading it that the author admitted to sexual misconduct with women, which is a serious bummer, because the book is quite good. The semi autobiographical novel was inspired by Alexie’s own l childhood on a Spokane Indian reservation. It reminded me of RJ Palacio’s Wonder, and I imagine it delighted young readers in much the same way. I know I would have loved it as a middle schooler too.
I’ll Show Myself Out: Essays on Midlife and Motherhood by Jessi Klein
Loved it. This book of essays—about the hero’s journey that is motherhood— is very (very) funny, but not so funny that you feel hoodwinked or like you’re just skimming along the surface of something real. Klein is a fantastic writer (she writes for television and is a standup comic too) and she’s not afraid to tell the truth. Or maybe she is, but lucky for us she does it anyway.
The Diary of Anne Frank
I read it in my early teens, and while it wasn’t entirely lost on me, I certainly did not appreciate the extent of Anne’s transformation over the two years she was in hiding, from feisty little girl to thoughtful (and still feisty) young woman. Given the current rise in anti-semitism (racism, hatred, intolerance, and on and on) in the United States post Trump, I read Anne’s diary and wondered how far we’ve really come since WWII—and how close we are to repeating the same atrocities.
The Social Justice Advocate’s Handbook: A Guide to Gender by Sam Killermann
This is a great resource. I’m addition to being a very accessible primer on gender and gender issues, the tone of the book is delightful. So many of the social justice books I read have an undercurrent of rage. And while the rage is completely justified, I worry that readers (myself included) will walk away more fearful (of getting it wrong) than empowered. Alternatively, the rage undercurrent creates yet another unhelpful binary: those who get it and those who don’t, which can make people feel defensive and reluctant to keep trying to do better. All this to say, Killermann uses (sometimes corny but nevertheless endearing) humor to get his message across, and I think it’s a winning strategy. Highly recommend.
We Keep the Dead Close by Becky Cooper
Subtitled A Murder at Harvard and a Half Century of Silence, this is one hell of a piece of investigative reporting. Investigative storytelling is more like it. Cooper is equal parts journalist and poet, and the craftsmanship of these 400+ pages is like watching a magic trick unfold. Compelling and poignant and impressive.
Rough Draft: A Memoir by Katy Tur
This is actually Tur’s second memoir, the first being Unbelievable, her best-selling account of 510 days on the road reporting on the Trump campaign (which I haven’t read). I picked this up knowing nothing about Tur (or the current politicos who believe her to be a mainstream media sellout). Her story is pretty riveting, having been raised by the two rogue journalists responsible for the famous OJ Dimpson chase footage. Tur grew up flying in her parents’ helicopter, chasing news stories. It was thrilling and formative and … weird. Her father was sometimes loving, often abusive. And then—in Tur’s adulthood—her father came out as a woman (and a bizarrely anti-feminist one at that). It’s almost impossible to sympathize with Tur’s father Zoey, who reads as a textbook narcissist, regardless of gender, but I do empathize with Tur, who is a journalist to her core at a time when it’s a near impossible thing to be.
---
As always, I invite you to share your favorite reads from the past year and tell me what's on your TBR pile. Leave a note in the comments or you can follow me on Mastodon.
Happy New Year, everyone. :)
コメント